


A Gentle Rain

by leradny



Series: The Spirit Trap [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe: Switched Genders, Gen, Mention of human sacrifice, Misogyny, PTSD, Recovery, Super subtle background Zutara, Trauma, but only for Zuko and Katara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leradny/pseuds/leradny
Summary: Fire Lady Zuko performs for her people in a festival asking the gods for gentle rain. Former Admiral Jeong Jeong, newly pardoned, is in attendance.
Series: The Spirit Trap [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939375
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	A Gentle Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. I was supposed to be writing the next chapter of Spirit Trap but oops, my hand slipped. Anyway, Jeong Jeong deserves to retire on a farm and recover from his trauma while remembering the positive side of firebending. The Fire Nation being the equivalent of Japan with a monsoon climate is just a headcanon of mine.
> 
> The palm leaf fans are not folding fans like the Kyoshi style, they are these woven rigid hand fans: https://www.aliexpress.com/item/592945706.html The sharply pointed styles are more prevalent in Southeast Asia and Pacific Island countries. I just thought the shape was perfect for Fire Nation ladies.

A yearly celebration occurs shortly before the wet season of the Fire Nation.

The festivities vary in extravagance and length, but all open with a ritual dance asking the gods for a gentle rain. It was not always women who did this; they sometimes performed the ceremony with their husbands as partners or musicians. Twins were certain to perform a paired dance regardless of gender. The dance has always had an aspect of aesthetic; ladies of the court who were deemed most beautiful were given the role because it was assumed that their lovely faces would best soften the gods' hearts. Non-benders were accepted if they were suitably beautiful, and instead of flames they held pointed palm-leaf fans woven with red fibers and gilded. All were dressed in white silk robes with another, black one underneath.

Jeong Jeong had only gone once. It happened that General Iroh had invited all of the admirals to the celebration at the capital personally, and he could not refuse the Crown Prince. Moreover, Iroh was excited as his brother had a wife now, and she was set to perform the ritual dance after various pretty noble ladies had gone through the motions with lethargic obedience and middling skill.

But Princess Ursa was different, according to Iroh. "She is a rare beauty and a talented dancer," the Crown Prince said. "It is good that we have another woman to lead the court since Princess Ayako died."

No expense had been spared since a Princess was to dance. That made Jeong Jeong's mood worse. He hated the capital for its decadence and felt his spirit wither the moment he walked into the palace courtyard. And watching Princess Ursa only made him hate it more.

To be fair it was not because of her skill or her looks. In the flush of youth at about twenty, slender and fair-skinned with raven hair, a pointed profile and chin, and the dragon's eyes particular to nobles, she was the very picture of a Fire Nation beauty. People saw her and made envious comments, either to be her or be married to her. What Jeong Jeong saw that bothered him was how her spirit was burdened and heavy, old before its time. Unhappiness dogged her graceful steps like some parasite.

Ozai did not accompany his wife as dancer or musician. Jeong Jeong knew then that the official story was false. It was said that they had fallen in love at first sight and that was why their courtship had been so brief, but no. The truth was that Ursa had been convenient for some reason. With no regard for the life she lived before, this pretty young woman had been swept up and was now dressed up and shown off as if she were a doll. He felt he would go mad when the applause began; could they not see her pain? And that was why he had left so early.

He found Princess Ursa in a small pavilion, drinking tea in the black robe she was to wear for the rest of the day. Where her overrobe had been filmy and delicate, her black robe was opulent, adorned with silver thread and trim. She had not borne her children then and was all alone.

"You have had dance training," he remarked, startling her.

Once the princess recovered, she smiled. "Some. My royal duties do not permit further study, but I do enjoy the theatre. I beg your pardon, sir, we have not been introduced."

"Admiral Jeong Jeong," he said, saluting her. "You are Princess Ursa, I know."

Something in her shifted to wariness; it could have been any number of reasons. Her voice was pleasant but distant as a star while she turned back to her mirror to undo her hair. "Pleased to meet you, Admiral."

"I was invited by Crown Prince Iroh, Your Highness."

"Oh, Iroh!" she said, a genuine warmth finally entering her voice. It made her beauty less poignant. "Of course. He was the one who encouraged me to perform this year. I had never even been to the capital before Ozai took me as his bride." The choice of words, even to him, was blatant: _Ozai took me._

"I do not visit it much myself, Your Highness. It has been years since I attended any function other than military."

"Iroh speaks highly of you--I think you would be well accepted."

"Perhaps I would." Jeong Jeong had been born a commoner and rose to admiral on his bending prowess alone. His military pursuits could be cunning but he was not manipulative by nature; he did not take to the double-talk of the court with any sort of ease. Princess Ursa was well-versed in it after a relatively short stay. Her theatre training, no doubt. Perhaps she had wanted to become an actor; now she was, in a cruel twist of fate. Jeong Jeong decided he had no time to sort through veiled words and sophisticated turns of conversation, instead saying plainly: "But I hate it here."

"Some would call that overstatement, Admiral," she told him as mildly as if he was a child.

"I see the court has been unkind to you as well."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Yet she did appreciate his honesty, he noted, because she said: "I was delighted to appeal to the gods for mercy."

"May they be merciful," Jeong Jeong said.

She smiled then, truly smiled, and touched a slender hand to his chest. "A blessing, if mine would be of any use." The chest concerned the Air chakra. A strange gesture--did she think him grief-stricken?--until Princess Ursa continued wryly, "Fair winds, Admiral Jeong Jeong." A simple pun.

"Princess Ursa!" Iroh called. "My dear sister, you were stunning!"

"Your Highness," Jeong Jeong bid her farewell, unwilling to deal with Iroh's buoyancy.

The rains had been as usual that year. It began with high winds that made travel unpleasant, which escalated to broken windows. One storm was bad enough that it toppled trees. But no one truly _believed_ that the ritual dance had any bearing on the weather anymore, a lack of piety that spared the unfortunate Princess Ursa from gossip. Only a few still cared for the gods, and one of them was on the sea at that time. Onboard his ship, Jeong Jeong thought of his only conversation with the princess, how her plea for mercy had received no response in regards to the rain.

The news that Ursa was with child sent a chill down his spine.

The gods' idea of mercy continued even after Jeong Jeong deserted. Lu Ten died overseas, and though Iroh's withdrawal from the siege of Ba Sing Se was shameful, it was well understood how much he had loved his son, which was why he still commanded loyalty from his colleagues and friends on an informal basis. No one hunted the former General down or called him coward when he traveled the world in search of portals to the spirit world.

"An impossible thought," they stated. "How can we judge a man if we do not know the grief of burning our own children?"

Even Azulon, strict as he was, had made no comment on the matter before his sudden death.

It was not missed that Ozai was crowned Fire Lord, nor that Princess Ursa disappeared on the same day. She had given Ozai no sons; his displeasure was clear. Brought to court over a decade ago for her husband's convenience, she disappeared at his convenience as well and did not even have the dignity of being mourned. It was as if Ursa had never existed, save her two daughters.

After the probable death of his first wife, no ladies were eager to become Ozai's second wife, Fire Lord or not.

Nor was it missed years later when Ozai, resigned to the lack of available brides, decided he had enough of Crown Princess Zuko as well. He declared an Agni Kai for a minor offense, speaking out of turn in the war room. The duel itself might have been believable as a loss of temper, but when Ozai disfigured his own daughter, it was as clear a move as ripping out her womb--she would not be married and therefore bear no heirs to challenge her sister. Setting the condition of finding the Avatar, unseen for a century, was mere cruelty on top of humiliation.

Any noblewomen who remained at the capital fled immediately after Princess Zuko's banishment, which was worse than death.

"A woman should drink poison before visiting the court," they whispered behind their pointed fans. "Quicker and less painful to die."

The capital was called a snake with two heads, Ozai being one, while Azula represented the other. Talented and arrogant and vicious, only those cut of the same cloth could last. That was the Fire Nation throughout Jeong Jeong's desertion. He was glad. The whole nation could rot away for all he cared. What gods were left had spent their mercy long ago.

\- - -

When Fire Lady Zuko reinstates the ceremony of rain and announces herself as the ritual dancer, it is not viewed as narcissistic but perhaps the only reasonable choice. The dance has not been performed for nearly two decades, regarded as superstition and discarded by Ozai with many other festivals. There are no other ladies at court, still too frightened to attend after Ozai's short but brutal reign, and the Fire Lady would rank highest of them anyway. Princess Azula has gone mad. And barring the scar, Zuko _is_ a beautiful young lady.

Or so Jeong Jeong has heard. He has never met the girl. He deserted when she was a child, and now she is about twenty.

A pardon from the Fire Lady for his desertion, on the grounds that he had done so on a moral dispute, is quite the surprise. She also invites him to the celebration of the rainy season. He attends, if only to see what the new court has become, and because her own mother was the last to perform. One of his deep regrets was not trying to do anything more for Princess Ursa.

The reinstated ceremony is modest, decorations limited to amulets of protection, red and gold ribbons, candles lining the halls, and a few unseen musicians playing quiet songs. The only proper event is a feast, itself simple. It could have passed for a small local fair if they were not in the palace courtyard. Jeong Jeong's ire, so easily roused by excess, lays quiet in his chest.

Fire Lady Zuko surprises everyone by her choice of clothing, which is minimal to the point of asceticism. She enters the stage barefoot, dressed in a plain white cotton robe with no adornment, not even the beaded necklaces that nuns wear. Nor does she wear makeup, and her hair has been put up in a severe topknot to leave her scar in plain view. Jeong Jeong finds it fitting, even if she does not know exactly how the dance came to be. She holds four sticks of incense rather than the palm-leaf fan.

Despite her own dance training and Iroh's musicality, the moves are strict and ceremonial. She intones the prayers herself, short and clear with no affectation at all, only loud enough to carry over the whole crowd. Her language is archaic, clearly an old text memorized.

"Agni, Agni! Whose eye is the All-Seeing Sun! Thou hearest my humble prayers even if they are a whisper in my soul! I speak instead to thine servants the scattered winds!"

She walks a circle on the stage, placing the incense in small burners at the four cardinal points.

"To the East Wind I pray for mercy!" She lights the corresponding stick with a touch of her finger and a single drum beat from Iroh. "To the West Wind I beg for kindness!" She lights the second stick. "The North Wind I beseech for gentleness!" Once more, a simple touch of a fingertip. "From the South Wind I ask for warmth." She smiles, the only break in her solemn countenance, and looks offstage briefly where there is a young man in Water Tribe blue. Then she traces the circle in the opposite direction and takes place in the center, standing still and straight, hands in the prayer position.

Iroh beats the drum four times, so loudly that he startles everyone. "Agni, we implore thee! Spare us, thy children!"

"Spare us!"

"What is thy request, Agni? All that thou desires we will give to thee!"

"All that thou desires we will give to thee!"

"All that thou desires we will give to thee!" they cry in unison.

The unseen musicians gather and play, simple and loud.

Zuko bows her head as the music rise around her like churning waves. Technically she has not broken any rules. It is required only that she remove her white robe to reveal a black one underneath, and celebrations have been even more perfunctory than this. But a shocked whisper goes up among the crowd when they see no strip of black at the Fire Lady's neck. Is she wearing two white robes? No, only the one. Her belt is tied so removing her robe will take too long. What will she do?

The answer is this: With a flick of one foot, Zuko sets the hem of her robe on fire.

And now Jeong Jeong knows she has done her research. Originally the 'dancers' were human sacrifices burned alive. Over the centuries this horrifying practice softened to mere symbolism, which was how the custom of removing the white robe to reveal a black one came to be, and why it is the only part of the dance which must remain unchanged.

Zuko is Fire Lady and a master of her art; she will not put herself in danger, and her esteemed uncle is a master himself. The young man, Jeong Jeong realizes, is surely a waterbender. But precautions or no, the audience watches with bated breath, Jeong Jeong included. She was recently crowned and is unmarried. It is well known that she bears the marks of her own family upon her, and one nearly killed her before she could even be crowned.

The flame travels up her robe without burning it entirely, only leaving it singed black in a masterful show of discipline. This alone must have taken weeks of practice. And when she turns to the four cardinal directions bowing in supplication to the winds and the gods, it is revealed that there is a phoenix burned into the back of her robe. Jeong Jeong nods.

The audience is too shocked to respond, standing in silence as their Fire Lady puts out the fire with a wave of her wrist.

"When this practice began, it was not a dance!" Zuko declares. "No, not a dance but a sacrifice! Our priests and priestesses immolated themselves by leaping into flames to please the gods! Why has this changed? Why have we forgotten it?"

She has not burned herself alive, so she is not returning to the sacrifices; yet the crowd is still desperately uncomfortable. Smears of ash are on her hands. Soot and smoke stains her scarred face. That combined with the conviction in her voice makes her seem feral in a way different from Ozai. Yet after a moment, Fire Lady Zuko speaks again and her voice is a touch softer.

"I believe that it changed out of mercy," she says. "Those sacrifices were not made out of bloodthirst but desperation. They sacrificed one person to save the rest of their community. Yet as we grew in our knowledge we were better prepared to withstand the storms. Out of necessity the custom was born; when the need vanished, the custom grew less severe. As for why it was forgotten, so much time has passed that it was an inevitability. Within only one lifetime memories fade."

Jeong Jeong can see where she is going at once.

"There are none alive here who remember the start of the Hundred Year War. I find further conquering unnecessary for my reign no matter the reason, and thus I set it aside. There has been enough death and destruction at the hands of our people to last for another hundred years. As Fire Lady I have ordered an end to all military occupations. Continued campaigns will find no support from me. Our nation shall be a lantern, not a cannon. Our goal for the future shall be to preserve and enrich life, not to destroy it. If the gods show us no mercy, we must find it in ourselves."

Jeong Jeong had thought he could cry no more tears, had spent them all decades ago, left only with bitterness. But he bows his head and feels tears fall down his face, easing some of the grief that plagues him.

He approaches the Fire Lady afterwards, still in her singed robe. Her uncle is by her side, and he recognizes the young waterbender as Katara, a companion of the Avatar.

"Fire Lady Zuko," Jeong Jeong says with a bow. "I would like to thank you for the pardon and the invitation."

"You're welcome, Admiral Jeong Jeong," she says, refreshingly to the point. "But to be honest, I had another motive in mind. I know you've retired, but if you are amenable, I would like to ask something of you."

She has drawn up programs to provide all children in the Fire Nation a well-rounded education in history and the arts regardless of wealth or status. She will begin with the poorer villages, the ones far away or isolated from the capital.

If Jeong Jeong would like to become a teacher--not for firebending, she assures him, but for basic reading and writing--then he may choose whatever post he desires. While he may teach any young firebenders he notices, she also says that she will send another tutor. Barring even that, she will grant the benders from poor families lodging in the capital to be taught for three months in the basics of discipline. It is a recurring class, set to repeat once per season for accessibility.

Jeong Jeong chooses a remote village called Jang Hui, still recovering from the war efforts. He braces himself for recognition, for a barrage of unwanted requests from would-be bending students, but to his relief no one knows who he is. They assume he is retiring to the country as soldiers do, and his welcome is quiet yet warm.

They call him oyaji. He allows it, if only because it is a local custom to call men of a certain age 'Father' no matter their actual relation. He has no children of his own. In his youth he was too wild, too driven to serve his country at all costs, and after he matured he dreaded passing the curse of fire to anyone else.

He does not regret this.

He is not at all fatherly--not such a man as General Iroh, who even in his younger days treated all he met with a paternal warmth. Ladies were charmed by his gentle manners. Even before he became a father, children flocked to Iroh on instinct.

But gods and spirits know none hold such affection for Jeong Jeong, closer to Ozai in temperament than Iroh. He had been an unforgiving taskmaster in the navy. The soft ones cried and the sharp ones raged. His own desertion was met with the cold distance he had given to his comrades and students. Some students were the most eager to hunt him down. Perhaps he was never meant to be a teacher at all.

Still, the Fire Lady has given him a task and it is simple, to atone for the sins of his nation by giving the overlooked children a formal education. He will do his part and do it well.

Jeong Jeong takes little time to furnish his house with what is absolutely necessary. A dining table, a simple bed, the most basic of cookware. He plants a handful of rice seeds in his backyard and they grow happily in the rich mud with herbs and spices and a few banana palms.

Life in Jang Hui is simple, dedicated to fishing on the calm clear waters of the river. There is a statue of their patroness spirit the Painted Lady in the square. It would break his heart to see it transformed it into some bustling urban center far removed from its roots, but it is clear what the Fire Lady's plan is. She is not sweeping the town away and starting fresh, which would overwhelm the people and disrupt their balance. She is using Jeong Jeong to plant the seed of higher education and will wait to see how it takes root.

When he offers lessons in literacy, there is some wariness. They are a poor village, after all, and the last time people came from the outside with new ideas, their river was polluted from the waste of the ironworks factory and they became even poorer. Jeong Jeong stresses that his teaching would simply be a means of occupying time during his retirement. He has no family left, no close companions, and no children. He would gladly accept help in his garden or portions of fish and game in lieu of money, and there is a palpable relief.

He organizes his students as he did when he was still training firebenders. Late mornings after breakfast, when he has the most energy, are devoted to young children and the afternoon is devoted to teenagers and adults. The children pile into his home like puppies, some with their own brushes and paper, all hailing him as "Oyaji!"

"You must greet strangers differently," he corrects them. "Do not say oyaji, but oyaji-san." In his younger days he would have demanded they call him Master--but as this is a covert mission in all but name, he must tread carefully. In any case, this provides a seamless transition into etiquette.

"Why?"

"Because without it, you would be speaking to them as you speak to your own father, and some may find it rude. Any adult outside of your family should be addressed as -san out of respect."

He asks all their names and teaches them to grind the inkstone, to hold their brushes. Finally, after he has written the characters as reference, he gives them the challenge of writing their own names. Something uncoils within his soul as he watches them, like newborn ostrich foals tottering on their spindly legs. One by one he looks over their shoulders and gives them all nods. The quick ones inevitably turn to doodling. He politely ignores it as long as they have written their names first. To be fair, they do have the clearest characters.

\- - -

_"Again!" Jeong Jeong shouted. He was still training Zhao. The young soldier had been training four years. It was the longest session so far, the sun having set hours ago with only their bending to light the arena. Though they didn't know it, it would be their last._

_"I don't understand, Master."_

_"You think you will understand after four years? Five years? Ten years? I was training before you were born and there are yet more aspects I will never be able to comprehend! Again!"_

_"May I practice the kata on my own, Master?" Zhao asked, slowly through gritted teeth._

_He cuffed Zhao and roared, "How many times have I said that you may not practice without supervision!"_

_"Will it not show diligence, Master?"_

_"Diligence? For that one must have the discipline to watch themselves! You are full with complacency and it blinds you to your faults! For you to practice on your own would be worse than not practicing at all!"_

_"Then I won't!" Zhao yelled. He turned to leave. "I'm practically a master anyway! Who cares if I leave a year early?"_

_"At this very moment you are further from mastery than when you began!"_

_"That doesn't make sense!"_

_"If you leave now you will never again be welcome as my student!"_

_"No wonder no one wants to be your student!"_

\- - -

"Oyaji-san?" asks one little boy named Hing, breaking through his memory. "What do you think?"

Hing had a more difficult time grasping the brush than the other children; his name is not much more than a scribble. Perhaps he is left-handed, but children often have difficulty with smaller movements and Hing is slightly younger than the others, about five rather than seven. Jeong Jeong does not have it in him to be soft, to be _kind_ , but he says, "Let me see you write it again--slowly, this time. How you hold and move the brush are as important as the characters on paper."

"Why?"

"A name is very important. If you are not being yourself as you write your own name--with proper technique--how can you be truthful?"

The boy, with an exaggerated effort, lifts the brush.

"Stop." Hing's face falls, until Jeong Jeong goes on: "Take the brush in your other hand."

Hing gratefully switches. "I didn't know I could use my left hand."

"Most people use their right because it is their stronger side. For you it is the other. It matters not." Hing moves his inkwell to the other side of his paper before practicing a few strokes, improving much faster, and then he writes his name again.

Jeong Jeong nods. "That is clearer." The boy beams. "Well, that is enough for today. You may all go home."

The children are happy to run off early. Some of them snatch up their slips of paper to show their parents. Then come the teenagers and adults. Jeong Jeong is more exhausted after one day than he was after four years of training Zhao. He cooks a simple dinner and retires to bed soon after.

When he wakes the next day he realizes he had not used his spark rocks to make a flame. He admonishes himself; he had come here specifically to let his curse die in peace. Yet what the Fire Lady said comes to mind, a sort of forgiveness in advance: 'Our nation shall be a lantern, not a cannon.' This was no cannon, just a cookfire.

He still does not do it again.

\- - -

Children who are drawn to the kitchen fires, who make lanterns glow brighter as they pass by, are identified as firebenders.

Jeong Jeong nearly panics when their parents come to him, but then recalls what the Fire Lady said. Moreover, the families do not know he is a firebender. He may train them if he wishes--but no, he does not wish it. Asking for another teacher seems a simple enough solution, but his stomach wrenches painfully at the thought. So many impressionable yet distracted young minds. He sees Jang Hui burning on the water and he cannot do it.

He tells the parents of the basic class at the capital, of how their room and board will be provided by the state for three months. To his utter relief, most of them are excited to go. For the ones who are afraid to leave home, he informs them that they may wait until their peers return, as the class takes place every season. He does not reveal that he is a firebender. Perhaps he is being a coward.

But time passes quietly, simply, with no judgment from the Fire Lady or anyone else. The older students become interested in his scrolls of poetry and philosophy and art. Once they have passed the basics, they are beyond his skill to teach. The Fire Lady sends other tutors as needed.

The town decides on their own to repurpose a closed building with a communal stock of paper and brushes and ink, little more than a shared studio where students may work as they will. A few elders light the lanterns in the morning, organize the texts as the day goes on, and feed the children snacks and drinks as they study. There is no lock on the door. They do not call it a _school_ or a _library_. Jeong Jeong calls it a study hall in his next letter to the Fire Lady.

Zuko approves and offers a small collection of practical texts. Workbooks for students practicing calligraphy, cookbooks, blueprints for shipbuilding, almanacs, basic first aid, primers on local plants and animals, a few common instruments to lend, scrolls of dance and poetry and theater, some paintings and sculptures--but no firebending scrolls. No grand gestures either. She does not appear in robes of state to give the town her blessing. The Fire Lady's presence is like the East Wind: invisible, yet warm as it stirs the leaves.

Her next move is equally unobtrusive. She sends two doctors and an herbalist with plenty of supplies to the town after hearing that they have no formally trained physicians. Jeong Jeong is not surprised when the herbalist makes use of an old shop after her practice outgrows the clinic. Nor is he surprised when the doctors ask for his opinion of which children would be most suited towards a medical apprenticeship. He makes his recommendations and stands aside.

His students come to study with him or the other scattered tutors and on their own time practice instruments or pore over scrolls. The young firebenders travel to the capital and come back imitating the accent of the Caldera, wearing new clothes that dazzle their peers. But what gains Jeong Jeong's approval is the discipline they show. At most, they hold their palms out to show a flame, flickering and sometimes unsteady, which winks out in a few minutes after they have received the appropriate gasps of excitement. The children who were too afraid to go become excited.

People learn to make clothes in the style of the capital and open up shops with local designs woven at the hems in place of the gold trim, and they sell the clothes to students who wish to travel to the Caldera or elsewhere. Market stalls become grocery stores. Street food vendors open restaurants. Activity rises in the afternoons with more boats traveling up or downriver. And while parents begin to pay Jeong Jeong in actual money, his pupils remain manageable. The excitable ones choose to travel for their schooling, not only in bending but in etiquette and fine arts and craftsmanship.

Early mornings are still serene, the silence only broken by birdsong and running water and the light chatter of students working in the garden, or the occasional knock on his door from families who want their children to read and write.

After his small plot of land yields enough to feed himself and his neighbors, Jeong Jeong tells the Fire Lady that there is potential for establishing a farm of some sort but he has no time to work out the particulars, much less run it. Fire Lady Zuko requests permission of the village elders for a plot of land to create a community rice farm and enable true self-sufficiency of the entire village. The request is granted, albeit with surprise--for royalty to ask permission of their subjects is quite an unusual thing in both his generation and the next. But Jeong Jeong recognizes the move as a political example: The Fire Lady is humbling herself.

Several rice farmers from the capital come to break ground, to train interested villagers in both the physical demands of tending to rice crops, with specialized mills and other tools. They will educate the village on the higher-level business management that must be utilized for sale even if it is only within the community. Lessons have been postponed for the day so everyone may watch, and as a result Jeong Jeong is there in the crowd.

Among the assortment of volunteers is a tall woman in plain clothing suitable for farm work and a wide hat that covers her face. He recognizes Fire Lady Zuko's stride at once; purposeful and diligent with the straight back and high head of royalty, as proud and graceful as a leopard-swan. Her nails have been clipped to a practical length, but the rest of her hands are slender and pale and well-cared for, drawing the eyes of the village's young men. She smiles when she sees Jeong Jeong but puts a finger to her lips. He smiles faintly in return.

Beside her is a young man with dusky skin in similar modest work clothes, but his familiar face and blue eyes denote Water Tribe heritage. His walk is graceful and liquid as the river they walk over. "Master." Katara greets him with a Fire Nation bow. "Jang Hui has treated you kindly."

"Has it?"

"Your chi is much calmer than when we first met. I can feel it from here. And you smiled."

"Preposterous."

"Yeah!" One of the children agrees loudly. "Oyaji never smiles."

Jeong Jeong looks at the boy with a stern scowl. It is Hing. "What have I said about calling me that?"

"Um... Oyaji _-san_ never smiles," the boy corrects himself, and runs off with a laugh before he can be lectured again.

The Fire Lady lifts her chin the slightest touch. "So the children call you Oyaji-san, not Master."

"A local custom. It means nothing." He turns back to see an impish smile on her face. "Don't you have work to do?" he demands. She turns to attend to the head farmer's instructions and disappears into the crowd, her companion following with a hand on her waist.

The first rain that year is mild and warm. It continues to fall for the duration of the Fire Lady's clandestine visit, lightly enough that at times the sun shines through it and illuminates the river with a warm golden light, but never stopping completely. Not for nothing is it called the wet season.

A neighbor close to Jeong Jeong in age tells him that they call this weather ame-ame; sweet rain, a pun in the local dialect. He thinks it charming, but does not repeat such a delicate word for fear that it will melt on his bitter tongue. The grandmother points out a couple holding each other close as they stroll along the river bank with no umbrella. As they come closer Jeong Jeong sees that the young lady has pale slender hands while her companion is dark-skinned; their faces are conveniently hidden by the narrow hats they've put on.

He turns back to his neighbor out of politeness.

"If the first rain is ame-ame," she sighs, the fondness of nostalgia glittering in her eyes, "Anyone who walks under it will have a happy year."

Yet the tradition is not limited to lovers either. Everyone goes about their business, not only undaunted but welcoming the rain as a friend. The elders catch the water in their cupped hands and bow towards the river before drinking it. Parents gather it in bowls to wash their children's faces and hands. After concluding studies for the morning, Jeong Jeong walks outside to see the children dance and sing and play, the festivity of their parents contagious even if they lack awareness of the actual tradition.

He had forgotten of the wet season, hiding in the Earth Kingdom for a decade after his desertion. Was it a sign of the gods trying to keep the Fire Nation in check? They live on islands with salt and fresh water aplenty, and still more water comes from the sky for months at a time. And now that the war is ended, the rains are calm. Such is a mystery of the universe, a question he may never receive the answer to.

Jeong Jeong is too old to dance or sing, and his heart still too heavy, but he walks into his garden barefoot in the warm rain. Eyes closed, face turned upwards to heaven where the dragons live, he feels steam rise from his fingers and issue out of his mouth. But for the first time in decades he does not meet his internal fire with loathing or fear and he does not think himself cursed. _If the gods show us no mercy, we must find it in ourselves._ Has he been unmerciful to himself? He cups his palms to catch the water, then relaxes and lets it trickle through, watching the leaves of the plants bend and spring back.

A happy year. Does he dare think it?

The clouds shift and break above him. Jeong Jeong looks up when shouts arise and people crowd onto the river banks. Running to look out of instinct, fear sharp in his throat, he prepares for the worst. But no--they are cries of joy. The mingling sunlight and rain has caused a rainbow to arc over the water. He recalls in his childhood village they called a rainbow the dragon of seven colors, born of water from heaven and holy light.

Yes.

He dares.


End file.
